Fan Mail
by A Silver Cloud's Lullaby
Summary: Haymitch Abernathy has just won the Quarter Quell. Now he must deal with getting fan letters from someone named Euphrosyne, a young girl who hopes of one day becoming a Hunger Games escort. Hayffie fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**I've had a couple people ask me to continue Spring's Kiss a while back. Well, I'm still not going to as of yet, but I thought maybe this will do the trick! It's sorta similar in terms of Haymitch getting a fan at a young age and blah, blah, blah.**

**It doesn't follow a set storyline per se, but there is one. This is basically something for me to write when I get stuck on Fine Line and Shut Up, Sweetheart. It's just for fun, silliness, and fluffery! Not my top priority, but still something I wanted to get out here. I hope you like it! :)**

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_Title: Fan Mail  
Summary: Haymitch Abernathy just won the Quarter Quell. Now he has to deal with getting letters from his biggest fan, a young girl named Euphrosyne who one day hopes to become a Hunger Games escort.  
Rating: K+  
Pairings: Hayffie  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and dislike it. :)_

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Chapter One

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Haymitch Abernathy woke up in a cold sweat. He automatically reached to his right, searching for his girl. With a pang in his chest he felt nothing but air. She wasn't with him anymore. She was—

He ripped his sheet off of his shining chest. He refused to finish the thought. He glanced at the clock by his nightstand. It was the only thing in his room that wasn't completely trashed. It read _1:27 PM _in a bright green. He'd only gone to sleep five hours ago. Oh well. He wasn't getting any more sleep, as usual.

There was a knock on his door. He rolled his eyes and sighed angrily. He considered not even answering, but the knocking was persistent. He might as well get up anyway. With an aggravated groan, he pushed himself off his slashed mattress. Stomping down the stairs clad in only his boxer shorts, he yanked open the door to his new house in the Victors Village, a frown ever present on his face.

"What do you want?" he growled at the visitor.

It was the mailman. He came twice a month to District Twelve whenever there was mail that needed delivering. Usually it was only for the businesses in Town, but ever since Haymitch won the Second Quarter Quell four months prior, he'd been getting regularly visits from the unfortunate postal worker. All because of—

"Fan mail for Mr. Haymitch Abernathy," the mailman deadpanned as he held up a small brown sack full of letters.

Haymitch's frowned deepened. He glared, his silver eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. "How many times do I gotta tell you, I don't want those stupid letters?"

The mailman shrugged. "Don't care, sir. I'm just doing my job. Just do what you normally do with the letters. Throw them in the fire."

He tossed the sack at Haymitch's feet and left without another word. Haymitch cursed under his breath and picked up the annoying brown mass. Slamming the door shut with his foot, he brought the sack over to the dying fire in the living area of the Victor's mansion.

Haymitch dropped the sack and poked at the hearth. Soon the fire was roaring again, hungry for anything to devour. Well, Haymitch was more than happy to oblige. Twice a month for the last four months he's been receiving these stupid fan letters written by people of all ages—all from the Capitol. And he hadn't read a single one. He didn't want to read their praises. He was nothing to worship. He was a cold-blooded killer destined for solitude. He didn't need words of kindness, particularly those from the Capitol. It was their fault he was like this in the first place. They disgusted him. He'd like to burn every single one of them in the fire along with their letters.

Haymitch pulled the string on the sack so hard it snapped off. He ripped open the flap, ready to pour all of its contents into the flames. Just as he was about to toss the lot, something caught his eye. In the mass of multicolored envelopes—amongst the greens, blues, pinks, and yellows—was a lone white envelope. Odd for a Capitol letter.

Against his better judgment, Haymitch plucked the white envelope out of the bag and flipped it over. It was a letter addressed to him written in the fine scrawl of a Capitol citizen. Still, it was oddly plain.

Haymitch scooted backwards and sat with his back against the dusty coffee table. He knitted his brows and turned the envelope in his hands. He shrugged, curiosity getting best of him, and tore it open. Ah, there was the color. Not the page. No, it was a plain, lined piece of paper. But the scrawl was loopy, girly, and very, _very _pink. He rolled his eyes and considered tossing it into the fire where it belonged, but something stopped him. Something told him he should read the letter. He debated in his head for a good five minutes. Did he really want to read the inner workings of an idiot's mind?

He groaned and rolled his eyes so hard his head went along with it. With an angry shake of his head, he began to read the letter anyway. What could it hurt? The writer was obviously young, if the slant in her writing was any indication. The pretty cursive and the formal greeting, however, distinguished her as a child from the higher class. Probably a spoiled little rich girl. Whatever might as well get it over with.

"_Dear Mr. Haymitch Abernathy,_

_ "Hello! My name is Euphrosyne. It means mirth or merriment! Isn't that neat? I thought you might like to know, because you make me happy."_

Haymitch wasn't sure whether to smirk or snarl.

_ "I've been looking for your address for a long, long, long time. I wanted to write you a letter ever since I first saw you in the arena, but I don't think you can get mail there. I wanted to tell you that I'm your biggest fan, Mr. Haymitch! I knew from the moment I saw you at the Reaping that you were going to win."_

Yeah, Haymitch was sure. He wished he had known he was going to win. He would have prevented it with everything he had. Anything to keep his family alive.

_"All of my friends said I was crazy for rooting for you. They said you were boring. Don't worry, Mr. Haymitch, I stuck up for you! I wasn't going to let my friends talk about you like that. Besides, I think you're remarkable. I watched the Games every day to make sure you were okay. I didn't want you to get hurt._

_ "My mommy wasn't very happy that I wanted you to win. She said that I shouldn't get my hopes up because you were from District Twelve. But I didn't care. I knew the moment I saw you that you were going to win! I could see it in your eyes. I like your eyes, Mr. Haymitch. They're very pretty. I like pretty things."_

Haymitch's lips couldn't help but quirk up a little.

_"My mommy says I have to come eat now. I'm sorry, Mr. Haymitch. I hope I get to talk to you one day! Do you think you could write a letter back to me? You must get dozens! My best friend Chloris sent you one last month. She said she didn't get a letter, but I don't think she deserves one. She didn't believe you would win, but I did! Don't tell her I said that, though, okay? I don't want her to be mad at me._

_ "But I hope you do write a letter to me, too. It would be the best thing ever! Especially since it's coming from you, Mr. Haymitch. I think you are the best thing ever! Thank you very much for reading my letter, Mr. Haymitch! I'm so glad you won the Games._

_ "Your Biggest Fan,_

_ Euphrosyne T."_

Haymitch snorted. Clearly this girl was living in a fantasy world. As if he would ever write back to a fan. Might as well toss it into the fire with the rest of them.

He eyed the pink ink warily. But then again… He supposed he could set her straight. Send her one letter telling her not to expect another reply. In fact, she should stop sending her fan mail altogether. She may be glad that he won, but he wasn't. He didn't want her letters. All he wanted was to forget. Forget everything.

Unfortunately, people like "Euphrosyne T." weren't going to let him. He needed to set her straight.

He slapped the letter on the coffee table. He kicked the open sack forward, spilling the rest of the letters into the fire. The fire licked them up hungrily. He went in search of a pen and piece of paper. There had to be something around here somewhere.

He at last found something after searching for ten minutes. He thumped on the floor in front of the coffee table, Euphrosyne's letter spread before him. He picked up the pen, a smirk on his face.

_"Euphrosyne…"_

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**There you go! What do you think so far? Just something cute to stimulate my brain during Writer's Block. Let me know how you feel about it!**

**Thanks for reading! :D  
-Lullaby-**


	2. Chapter 2

**Haha, I can't believe I actually updated this one. What's more, I think we may have a real set plotline going on. I was writing in my notebook (I honestly forgot how much more inspiration you get with a pen and paper than with a keyboard), and suddenly my Muse quite literally attacked me with a vengeance. We'll see how it goes. This will still be a "back-burner" story, meaning I'll only update when I've got Writer's Block or sudden inspiration.**

**But, anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter all the same!**

**Also, please note the rating change. It's only for language, and it's just to be safe. :)**

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___Title: Fan Mail  
Summary: Haymitch Abernathy just won the Quarter Quell. Now he has to deal with getting letters from his biggest fan, a young girl named Euphrosyne who one day hopes to become a Hunger Games escort.  
Rating: Changed to T for language  
Pairings: Hayffie  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and dislike it. :)_

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Chapter Two

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"_Euphrosyne,_

_ "Alright, look here, kid. There's a reason why your friend Chlorine didn't get a reply from me. I don't give them. The only reason I'm sending you a letter is to tell you to stop sending me mail. It's not going to do you any good. This is a reply to end all replies. This will be the last one you'll get, because that was the last letter you'll send, okay?_

_ "So don't think you're special because you got the first (and last) reply from your almighty Victor. Because you're not. You're only setting yourself up for disappointment, sweetheart. You think I make you happy? I don't make anyone happy. I'm not a very happy guy, kid. So stop with all this I'm-happy-you-won crap. Quite frankly, I'm not happy that I won. I'd rather be dead right now instead of sitting in my house, reading letters from little girls like you._

_ "You should listen to your mother, little lady. At least you got one. Do what she says and lose my address. Stop sending me mail. Because you won't get any more replies, get me?_

_ "Leave me alone,_

_ Haymitch Abernathy."_

Haymitch knew he had been possibly a little harsh in his letter. Yet he couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it. Besides, it would give that Euphrosyne girl a taste of whom she _really_ idolized. The reality behind her rose-colored glasses exposed. She'd see the truth, bleak and grey.

And then she'll hopefully stop sending him letters. She has bigger problems to worry about, like that new dress that costs half his yearly wage as a Victor (and that alone was enough to keep the Seam completely fed for a month), or that stupid boy at school who won't notice her lavender curls.

He's only guessing, of course. He couldn't care less about her petty Capitol issues.

Meanwhile, as she's pondering her ruby sandals, he has to worry about the next Reaping only five months away. It'll be his first Games as a mentor. He was already dreading the possibility of failing the next unlucky boy and girl.

Heaven above, what if it were one of his peers? What if it were Kennet Everdeen, or Alder Hawthorne, or—dare he consider it? What if it were Marjorie Donner? Even worse yet (it could get worse?), what if it were that skinny little Seam girl Glenn had been sweet on? Killing innocent Heather Sapling would be like killing his little brother all over again.

These were possibilities that haunted his thoughts every day, and became a reality every night. It was enough to drive him mad. There was nothing to squelch the pain.

Well, there was one way.

_No._

He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't give in. he'd rather die than become like _him_. Though, when he thought about it, wasn't he already dead? He wished he was. And that knife looked mighty tempting.

But no.

He wasn't a coward. He's faced worse. Hell, he's overcome worse. And he wasn't about to let two kids go into that arena with no help to guide them. He'd had no mentor, and it was damn hard to get through on his own. He was only lucky he had a family and his girl waiting for him back home. Not that it mattered now. And had he known what was in store…

It was a vicious cycle. One that he relayed every day since that stupid letter. Thinking of the letter made him think of the Capitol, which made him think of the Games, which made him—

It ruined his already hard life. Damn, how he hated the Capitol! Hated it so much he could taste it on his tongue, as bitter as the blood he spilt.

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the Capitol any more, two weeks flew by, and he was once again in the possession of a heavy, brown sack filled to the brim with delirious adoration and fake love. He prayed a fire would come and burn them all to the ground. The best he could do was set their mail ablaze. Not as satisfying, but better than nothing.

When he opened the burlap, he found, to his shock and _great_ irritation, that abnormally white envelope surrounded by a sea of color. Seriously? Did the brat _not_ understand his response?

Maybe it was her mother, writing to give the hateful Victor a piece of her mind after finding her spoiled princess in tears. How could he be so heartless? After all, he should be so lucky that any citizen of the prestigious Capitol—particularly her precious baby girl—should grace him with a letter. He was still from District Twelve, Victor or no Victor. He should be _grateful_.

Curling his lip in disgust, he tore open the letter. There was nothing more hilarious than seeing a Capitol woman with her feathers ruffled (and he had seen many, _many_ women sporting all sorts of avian inspired fashion).

He unfolded the notebook paper expecting to see the sharp scrawl of an outraged mother. Instead he found the same pink writer as before. Oh, joy.

"_Dear Mr. Haymitch,_

_ I know you told me not to send any more letters, but it's very bad manners not to send a reply when you got one. I don't like having bad manners. Please don't be terribly angry with me, Mr. Haymitch! I'm very sorry! Even though you only sent me a reply to stop sending you stuff, I'm still very glad you did! My best friend _Chloris_ (not Chlorine, silly!) didn't even get one, and she always gets the best stuff! But don't worry, Mr. Haymitch. I won't tell her you sent me one. It might hurt her feelings, and I can't do that to her! Even if she did used to make fun of me for cheering for you!_

_ "I wasn't disappointed!_

_ "Okay, I'm sorry. I fibbed, Mr. Haymitch. You sounded mad in your letter, and I was disappointed that I upset you._

_"I guess you were right when you said you weren't very happy. But I could make you happy! I'll do better than my last letter, I promise! I really want to make you happy. Do you want to know why? Because you _do _make me happy, Mr. Haymitch. You make me very happy. Will you please let me try to make you happy? I think I could if you'd let me. My mommy says I'm brighter than any sunbeam, and my daddy says I'm full of life. So please don't say you'd rather be dead, Mr. Haymitch. I'd like to give you some of my life!"_

What the… Was this girl serious? Haymitch reread the last paragraph just to make sure he read it right the first time. Yeah, he read it correctly. Why on earth did this little princess care so much that he was happy? Why would she want to go to great lengths? Haymitch shook his head and kept on reading.

_"I know you told me to stop sending you mail, but I think I will anyway. You don't have to reply to me. You don't even have to read them. But I'm going to try my very best to show you how happy I am that you're still alive. Don't worry about sending me anything. I already got one letter from you, and that's enough! I'm going to save it forever and ever. I'll put it in my dreams' box because it's my dream to meet you one day. If it never happens, I'll at least have your letter, even though you were a little rude._

_ "Thank you for answering my last letter. You're the best, Mr. Haymitch! I'll write again soon!_

_ "Your Biggest Fan,_

_ Euphrosyne T."_

It was a pity no one else was in the house with Haymitch. It would have been the perfect moment to snap a picture since his face was quite comical. He was at a complete loss for rational thought. He merely stood in the middle of the room, staring at the letter with nose scrunched and left eyebrow raised in utter bewilderment.

How was he supposed to react to this? Some girl—a child probably no older than ten years old—was totally disregarding his rather harsh letter just because she wanted to _make him happy_? Was she stupid? Was she emotionally suicidal? She was even okay if he never read her friggin' fan mail! And why the hell would she want to save his one and only response? It was a piece of paper with a bunch of nonsensical words. Haymitch couldn't find anything significant about it. But she was going to put it in her so-called "dreams' box" as if it were her most treasured item.

The traitorous part of Haymitch was almost…appreciative at the gesture. It felt strange to be held up on such a high pedestal, no matter how undeserving. Almost satisfied that he could at least make one person happy. It was almost nice.

He dismissed the feelings as quickly as they came and replaced them with annoyance. Whatever. If this little princess wanted to live in her fantasy world, that was her prerogative. He wasn't going to stop her. If her pointless hopes and dreams got dashed from his indifference, that was her fault. He wouldn't be held responsible for crushing her spirit. He no longer had anything to do with her fanciful ideas and misplaced affection for him.

Still…

He supposed it was only fair to warn the brat what she was getting herself into. Just as a disclaimer, to ensure that no one would even try to put the blame on him. He'd tell her what was up, in plain black—or blue, depending on which pen he found—and white. What she did with the warning would be her problem now.

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**It's physically impossible for me to write long chapters for this. XD Ah well!**

**So, what did you think? I'd love to know your thoughts! Tell me what you liked/disliked/hope to see!**

**Thank you for reading!**

**-Lullaby-**


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